Fit to Be Tied [Marshals: 2] (33 page)

“You’re going to be impossible to live with.”

The waggle of eyebrows told me he was, just in case I had missed the smirk or the swaggering walk across the kitchen. He leaned in and kissed me, all heat and dominance, pressing me back into the counter, flipping the dish towel over his shoulder so he could take my face in his hands. He slowed then, his kisses becoming long and deep, and I lost track of anything but his wicked tongue, his teeth on my lips, and his soft, urgent noises. When his knee spread my thighs and his hand slipped up under my T-shirt to my nipple, rubbing, pinching, I almost came right there. Apparently in all the months we’d been having sex, he’d been watching and listening and now knew exactly the things that turned my key, big time. When he leaned back, just enough to speak, we were both panting.

“I enjoyed what we did,” he murmured, “and I want to do it again, whenever I want, whenever I need, whenever you do.”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed, more kissing and stroking taking precedence over words at the moment. My hunger for him had not been sated; he’d be under me as soon as I got him to bed.

“And if we both want something at the same time, then we should be able to talk about it or—”

I chuckled. “I don’t see us fighting to top.”

“Yeah, but what if we do?”

He was worried, not wanting his new craving to interfere with our dynamic.

“Could you see that happening?”

He thought a moment. “I… no.”

“How come?”

“Well, because mostly I like it how it’s been… I need it how it’s been.”

“So, you see,” I confirmed. “We’re okay, baby, I swear.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Nothing’s changed?”

“No.”

He cleared his throat. “Then can we leave the rest of this cleaning for tomorrow and just go to bed?”

I had the urge to laugh, a big sound bubbling up out of my throat, not because anything was funny, but because of how happy I was. “Yeah, we can do that.”

His sigh was long as he turned for the stairs. “You know, sometimes I’m so happy I worry that I’m gonna wake up.”

“I know the feeling,” I agreed as I followed behind him.

“But then,” he said, rounding to face me. “I see you and I recognize this is my real life.”

“Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

“From the beginning, yeah, I was.” He exhaled sharply. “Thank you for loving me.”

Fucking Ian, only he could stop my heart. “It’s my pleasure.”

He cleared his throat. “Would it also be your pleasure to marry me?”

“Yes, of course it would,” I said without thinking. I wanted it so bad. “Crap, what I meant was—”

“No,” he sighed, the smile lighting his whole face. “I finally got an honest answer that was all you and none of your worry about what I thought.”

“But—”

“I just want to talk about it, all right? I want you to know that the place I was at before, where I could never see me wearing a ring, isn’t where I am now.”

“How come?” I asked softly, trying to keep the thunderous excitement out of my voice. I didn’t want to spook him.

“Because now I realize that being a marshal or being a solider isn’t my whole life—those two things aren’t all that I am.” His voice was thick with emotion, low and husky. “You’re in there too; you’re actually the most important part because I carry you with me wherever I go.”

Jesus. His words annihilated me and made me putty in his hands. “Gimme kiss,” was all I could manage to say.

His cocky grin was there as he leaned in and kissed me tenderly, sweetly, ending with the whispered, “I love you,” in my ear.

“Okay,” I said, shivering with happiness. “So we’ll talk about getting married.”

“We’ll talk about
when
, not
if
anymore.”

“
When
,” I repeated, unable to keep in the smile of pure joy. “Okay.”

His chuckle was warm. “All right, come on, gimpy,” he said as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “This time, can I carry you up?”

“No, but you can help me and hold my hand and let me have you when we get up there.”

That smile of his made those gorgeous warm eyes of his crinkle in half. “Give me your hand.”

His was warm in mine when I squeezed tight.

Deputy US Marshal Miro Jones has a reputation for being calm and collected under fire. These traits serve him well with his hotshot partner, Ian Doyle, the kind of guy who can start a fight in an empty room. In the past three years of their life-and-death job, they’ve gone from strangers to professional coworkers to devoted teammates and best friends. Miro’s cultivated blind faith in the man who has his back… faith and something more.

As a marshal and a soldier, Ian’s expected to lead. But the power and control that brings Ian success and fulfillment in the field isn’t working anywhere else. Ian’s always resisted all kinds of tied down, but having no home—and no one to come home to—is slowly eating him up inside. Over time, Ian has grudgingly accepted that going anywhere without his partner simply doesn’t work. Now Miro just has to convince him that getting tangled up in heartstrings isn’t being tied down at all.

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M
ARY
C
ALMES
lives in Lexington, Kentucky, with her husband and two children and loves all the seasons except summer. She graduated from the University of the Pacific in Stockton, California, with a bachelor’s degree in English literature. Due to the fact that it is English lit and not English grammar, do not ask her to point out a clause for you, as it will
so
not happen. She loves writing, becoming immersed in the process, and falling into the work. She can even tell you what her characters smell like. She loves buying books and going to conventions to meet her fans.

www.dreamspinnerpress.com